


Ten Things Alex Learned

by orphan_account



Series: Things They Learn [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alexander had never bothered to look at Thomas (Jefferson?) any other way than with hatred. However recent event have caused him to look at him differently. He keeps learning things about Thomas that make him reevaluate what he once thought. He hopes to whatever God there may be that this goes over better than it looks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Second multi-chaptered fic for you guys. Happy new years!

**1.) Thomas had** ** _terrible_** **anxiety.**  

Alex and Thomas were only a few days into their "friendship," he guessed you could call it. He really wanted to call it an acquaintance but they knew too intimate of facts about each other. It wasn't like he _wanted_ to help "Thomas" through a panic attack but he couldn't just leave the man there. At least, that was his reasoning. He'd only helped because he'd _never_ seen Jeffer- _Thomas_ look so helpless and broken. It was wrong, to see a man he had associated with a strong, charismatic, and slightly annoying ego, crying and unable to breath. He had thankfully remembered grounding techniques he had been taught and put them to use. What probably surprised him the most about the event was the way Jef-Thomas had stood up, brushed his tears away and seemed almost unaffected by the whole ordeal. He'd walked out of the elevator every bit the pomp, pristine prince he'd walked in. He'd been silent the ride to Thomas' place because _he_ had gotten whiplash from Thomas' change in personality. _He_ had been unable to wrap his head around the way Thomas hid something so easily. 

He'd walked into work today thinking about how he could absolutely _destroy_ Jefferson (not Thomas, he became Jefferson for their debates) at the meeting today. But something made him freeze and think for a moment about something. If Thomas (not Jefferson but _Thomas_ ) could so easily brush off a panic attack that large, how often had they happened? The thought made him freeze and he remembered the way Thomas' hands had twitched to his necklace. He wondered what was on it as he often touched it, almost as if to check something was indeed there. He had often see Thomas do that but only now did he have the foresight and knowledge to speculate maybe, just maybe, that's how he calmed himself. As he thought back to all their arguments he finally recognized something, eventually Thomas' hand would twitch towards his necklace. He would then snap and wrap the argument up, through pushing it too far or through ignoring him. 

He supposed the signs were all there. Thomas' avoidance of eye contact while speaking. Thomas' tendency to go spend time alone before and after a speech he had to deliver. Thomas' general quiet demeanor, with everyone but himself. Sure, he exuded charm and confidence but his aura he put off was "I know more than you don't even try," so people didn’t. Thomas actually seemed to be a professional at avoiding long talks with people, he thought. Thomas always avoided him, if he could get away with it. In fact the longer Alex thought about it the more obvious it became that Thomas must have some form of social anxiety, or anxiety in general.  

Upon this revelation he immediately felt his gut twist in shame. He had some anxiety, it was rather mild, but to think he'd been putting someone he, albeit hated, through what he was once compared to living hell. He wanted to run over to Thomas and beg for forgiveness. He knew his pride wouldn't actually let him do that but he certainly _felt_ like doing it. It was the thought that counted. He made himself a promise in that moment, he would immediately stop arguing with Thomas if he saw any signs of anxiety or unease.  

He nodded to himself. Yes, this would work, he thought to himself. With that in his mind he focused back on his work. With new found determination he picked up his pen and began writing. There, easy enough to be dealt with. 

\------ 

 _Not_ easy enough. Today he had planned on introducing his financial plan to the whole staff. _Jefferson_ had barely let him get a word out before he was denouncing the whole plan, not even letting him explain the whole thing. It would have benefitted them so much if his plan had been approved. So here he was, arguing with Jefferson, again. He was red in the face and beyond frustrated when Jefferson began to lay in on him rather brutally, something about him being an orphan, again. He was flinging a particularly creative curse when Thomas' (they may be the same literal person but the mannerisms were different) hand reached up to touch his necklace. He froze, words on the tip of his tongue, hand half raised in a gesture, and legs locked in anger. He froze and felt his promise from earlier, it reverberated in his head, it poured ice into his bones, but most of all, it reminded him that Jefferson _and_ Thomas were the same person. 

He unlocked his legs and forced himself to sit. He unclenched his hands and calmly stacked his papers. The eyes of the room were on him but he ignored them. "You're absolutely right," he said, calmly, "I'll see to it that I revise my plan. Do you have any suggestions I should write down or would a meeting be better?" 

He took out a notepad and pen too take any possible notes and finally looked up expectantly from his stare at the table. Everyone was frozen in various stages of shock. Washington had dropped his pen and was blankly staring at him. Adams looked like he had just had a stroke. All three of the Schuyler sisters were looking at each other with varying degrees of "unbelievable" on their face. His close friends (Laf, and Herc) were blinking dumbly at each other. Thomas himself was staring down at him in pure shock. This didn't even begin to cover all the assistants, some of whom had sputtered marvelously. He was pretty sure someone had done a spit take and someone else had choked on what they were eating.  

He made an impatient gesture. Washington cleared his throat, and said, "Mr. Jefferson, your response?" 

Thomas blinked out of his shocked stupor. He opened his mouth twice before anything came out. Finally, he said, "Right, I'm sorry Mr. President. Yes, I would..... I would like to make a meeting with you, Mr. Hamilton. If you'll come with me after this meeting I have a couple quick things to discuss then you can make an appointment with Sally that will work with both of our schedules." 

He nodded, pleased. "That work for me. Is there anything else to discuss Mr. President," he said, turning to Washington.  

Thomas sat down in the meantime. Everyone was getting over their shock. After all it wasn't too often (no one thought they had ever seen it) that one would see Hamilton _and_ Jefferson agreeing on something. Not only that, _Hamilton_ the by far and away more hot headed of the two had been the one to calm down and proceed calmly. Many of them had wished for things like this but it had been just that, a wish. No one had ever thought that this would actually happen. Many bets had even been made in the opposite result of this meaning. To put it simply, one Margarita Schuyler had just made a small fortune from her coworkers. 

Washington shook his head, "That was the last thing for the meeting. I suppose you are all free to go." 

Everyone got up, including him, some blinking more stupidly than others. He let most of them shuffle out, looking at him like had just done straight heroin in front of them. He waved his friends on when they went to stop by him. He waited until only he and Thomas (Jefferson?) were in the room. Thomas stood slowly, organizing his papers as he stood before packing them into his folder. He then turned on him, the look on his face one of complete and utter fury.He shrunk against the wall while Thomas (maybe this _was_ Jefferson?) advanced on him. He was grabbed by the collar and pinned to the wall. He swallowed nervously as Thomas (Jefferson) leaned down into his space. 

"What the hell was that today _Hamilton_?" He demanded. 

He cocked an eyebrow in answer, "If we're alone I believe we established I am Alexander and you are Thomas. Besides I have no idea what you are talking about. I was merely being polite and courteous to you, as I should've been from the beginning." 

He was released and he brushed himself off. An incredulous snort, "Liar, you were fully prepared to continue that argument. So spill, Alexander, what changed your mind?" 

"I was merely being courteous, Thomas. Can you really find fault in that?" 

A sigh, "Yes I can and I just did. Can you, please, tell me why you stopped now?" 

He bit his lip and looked down, "Fine. I put some puzzle pieces together earlier. You seem to only reach for your necklace when you presumably feel overwhelmed or anxious. So, when I saw you reaching for your necklace I stopped," he began to ramble, "Besides it's not like it totally wasn't worth everyone's faces when we stopped. We should do this more often; it makes for a much faster time of our meetings." 

Thomas' eyes widened in surprise as he continued to speak. He stood up and walked a few feet backwards from him. "You're serious?" He said incredulously, "There's no way you can seriously mean that." 

"I do, and I intend to find out what most, if not all, of the signs are. I won't put you through torment for my own amusement," he said, earnestly. 

Thomas nodded, observing him uneasily. He motioned for him to follow, so he did. Awkwardly he trailed behind Thomas. He put his hands in his pockets, to avoid making any awkward motions with them. They began to sweat as he began to worry over what Thomas wanted. (He was Thomas now, they weren't fighting, a first.) He gave Sally a small smile and she gave him a deadpan glare when he walked by with Thomas. When the door was shut behind him he swallowed nervously. Thomas circled around and sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He sat down on the plush (for an office chair) seat in front of Thomas' desk and pulled his hands out of his pockets to nervously wring them. Thomas studied him, deeply, and it was quite unnerving but he endured. 

At length, he spoke, "What do you know, Alexander? Not what can you guess; what do you know?" 

He fidgeted at the intensity of the gaze before responding, "I know you get panic attacks, a lot. You know how to hide when you're feeling anxious or scared. I know you hate when anyone sees you as weak and I know that you are anything but" the compliment was unintentional but true all the same, "I know, I know that you have some form of anxiety and it's not new. I know you're still dealing with your grief over your wife's death," a sharp inhale, "and, lastly, I know that you most likely do not want to have this conversation." 

Thomas nodded and leaned into the back of his chair, looking to the sky, almost as if silently praying. This was, of course, slightly ridiculous given that Thomas was a deist but not _completely_ out of the question. He wasn't about to point out what he was doing or how it seemed to be in conflict with his beliefs. 

"What you said was true, all of it," Thomas admitted, voice quiet buy carrying well enough, "To let you know everything I'm about to put you in the position of holding my trust. I'm not too sure if you deserve to be in this position but I'm giving it to you all the same. I have social anxiety, had it all my life. It used to be worse when I was a teen but I believe I have gotten better at managing it. Not good enough, obviously, but, better. I often grab for my necklace when I feel overwhelmed or anxious. Another thing I'll do is twirl my pen. If you really want to help me with my anxiety then please, just leave me alone. I-" 

"Like hell I will, Thomas! You obviously need some form of help more than James is able to provide. Look I know we don't trust each other, for obvious reasons, but, if we want to make this _thing_ between us try and work we need to. Look I know for people with anxiety it's hard to make friends or friends that you consider legitimate. I guess you can say I know this from experience-" he broke off as Thomas began to chuckle, then full on laugh at him. Soon Thomas had tears running down his face. He crossed his arms in annoyance but waited for him to finish. 

"Alexander, no need to tell lies you know," Thomas scolded. 

He grew red in annoyance, "I'm not! Just because I'm fine now doesn't mean I always was. I used to be terrified of what everyone thought of me. Through years of reluctant therapy I've narrowed it down to only caring what a select group of people think of me. I hate that I need some form of validation so I feel better but I can't just _leave_ it alone. One more thing is, I'm terrified of crowds, never let me alone in them." 

"But you walk through crowds on a daily basis. You have to, being Secretary of the Treasury," Thomas pointed out, wiping the tears from his face. 

"Yes and you deal with being anxious on a daily basis. We both live with it," He responded. 

Thomas nodded and they lapsed into silence. They studied each other, looking for something. He was looking for some sign that Thomas accepted what he said. 

 The silence engulfed them. It bled into every pore of his skin and seeped through his bones. He could feel it settle in him and slowly begin to strangle him. He couldn't deal with silence; his mind worked too fast to deal with silence. Even now his mind began to froth with impatience as his thoughts came in flurries. The words beat against his skull and a question was posed, "why do I care what Thomas Jefferson thinks?" For once, he didn't have an answer. He was lost, why _did_ he care? He looked down at his hands and searched for the answer. His thoughts had kicked into overdrive and he wanted, needed, to quiet them. He needed to say or do _something_ , anything. However some small part of him reminded him that it was technically Thomas who should break the silence. He shifted his feet and reminded himself that not every silence was a judging one. His throat began to itch but he fought down the urge to cough.  

The silence was drawing on too long. He was too consumed at this point. His thoughts threw terrible, horrible ideas at him. His hands moved to cover his face. He knew this was a terrible idea. Soon enough he could barely focus on what was actually happening in the real world. His mind was known for putting him through hell, but many didn't know that. His mind just would not _shut up_. He felt a hand on his shoulder and his hands fell from his face. He looked with wide eyes at Thomas who looked just a bit concerned. He cocked his head, " Yes?" 

Thomas shook his head and said, "I'll email you later about my plan. For now, get out of my office. We can talk later." 

He nodded and practically sprinted to his office, ignoring his poor assistant. (He'd had so many he forgot the names eventually. Her name started with an "S," maybe, he wasn't sure.) He locked his office door behind himself and collapsed in his swivel chair. He scrubbed at his face tiredly and looked to the sky. He hated when that happened. That was his problem some days; his mind just didn't shut down. He could talk and talk and talk somedays because he had to, not because he wanted to. He knew it wasn't exactly shall he say, normal, for someone to be consumed by their thought but he managed well enough. He began to work on calming his thoughts, not an easy task. He slowly and methodically sifted through them, sorting through them and managing them. Eventually he was rewarded with a not necessarily _calm_  mind per say as a calm _er_ mind.  

He sighed heavily and slipped on his glasses. He could feel the headache coming on and he didn't want to make it worse and not use his glasses. His glasses were a small point of pride for him. Yes he did need them but they were so sleek he found he quite liked them. Speaking of glasses he would have never guess that Thomas, of all people, wore glasses. They were quite well suited to his face too. Thick frames did Thomas well. Another point of interest was how, dare he say, _sexy_  Thomas looked with his hair wet. He had blushed so fiercely he simply _had_  to avoid eye contact. It was just a passing phase, surely, it had to be. (He needed it to be. He couldn't deal with anything else.) 

However, one good thing did come from his foray with Thomas. He _had_  been right. Thomas did have anxiety. He knew some signs to watch out for now; he could do this. With a determined nod he sat forward, mind beginning to let go of unimportant facts; there was work to do now. He picked up his pen and began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this through writers block so I'm not exactly thrilled with it.

**2.) Thomas could listen.**  

The next day he felt dead on his feet. His mind, sadly, did not come with and "off" switch. He could calm his mind, sure, but, only for so long. Eventually his thoughts came back with even more fervor than before. They bounced around his skull and his hands would begin to shake. His mind would simply not stop. He hadn't slept at all and it showed in the slightly darker bags under his eyes. He written furiously and the words just kept coming. After his fifteenth paper he had realized that it was time for work. Haphazardly he'd thrown on a new set of clothes but his mind was still on his writing. He'd written in his notes on his phone as he rode the bus to work. 

His head throbbed with tiredness and his throat felt drier than the desert. He had his assistant fetch him water and a sandwich. He sat them aside as his mind continued to hound him for work. He turned his computer on and began to work again. Words and phrases felt from his fingertips like water rushing to the ocean, relentless and abundant. His fingers were almost numb as they pounded the keys beneath them. They flew like wind over the mountains, punching the keys with deadly accuracy. His eyes burned and tears gathered in them from exhaustion. 

He paused, straightening his back from it's hunched position. Something popped and cracked and he rubbed at his back, basking in the relief. He shifted his glasses, trying to relieve the burn in his eyes. Finding this unsuitable he stood and nearly collapsed on his weak and shaking legs. He leaned down to massage his legs until he was on firmer footing. He staggered out of his office and by Sarah. (Was that her name? He hoped so.) He stumbled out and down the hallway, passing no one he knew (thankfully) to the break room and found it deserted. He shrugged and wandered to the coffee machine. With slightly numb fingers he started up the machine and got it going. Behind him, someone walked in the door. 

"Alexander why the hell does your hair look like a rat's nest?" Thomas asked. 

He sighed at the question revealing just who had walked in with him. His brows furrowed at the comment and he felt his nose wrinkle. He kept his back to Thomas though and, probably for the first time in a few years, he didn't rise to the bait that Thomas provided. He let out a happy sigh as he placed the empty cup in the machine and heard the sound of coffee being poured. Thomas walked closer and stood beside him. 

"Jesus, what time did you go to sleep last night? I swear your bags gained more weight," Thomas commented. 

He snapped, "I _didn't_ sleep last night, thank you very much. Yes, yes, I know _hysterical,_ right? It wouldn't surprise me if my bags were permanent at this point." 

Thomas drew in a sharp breath and grabbed his shoulders, turning him so they were face to face. Slowly, his eyes slid up to meet Thomas' gaze. Thomas flinched beneath his dead gaze. He found himself slightly uncaring as he gazed into Thomas' eyes. He took the opportunity to study Thomas' face. He'd never seen it so caring this close up and, he was currently debating whether that was good or not. When Thomas' face fell his gut squeezed in an uncomfortable fashion. 

"Alexander, why didn't you sleep?" Thomas questioned, tone open and sincere. 

He shook Thomas off and turned to get his coffee, taking an experimental sip. He didn't answer, the sad eye of Thomas and the heavy, loaded, silence weighed down on him like waterlogged clothes. It stuck to every facet of his skin and demanded his attention. He could feel Thomas' gaze like he could a tight hug, intimately. He ignored it all though and sat down at one of the tables. Thomas joined him and asked, again, "Alexander, why didn't you sleep?" 

He took a drink, once again, ignoring the question. Doing so made his skin absolutely _crawl_ with discomfort but he managed. He swirled the liquid in his cup, watching it lazily. He heard Thomas scooting closer but ignored it. A knee knocked gently against his. He looked up and found himself as face to face as he could be with Thomas Jefferson when they were both sitting. Thomas slung his arm around his shoulders and drew him to his chest. Feebly he pushed against the arm but it held strong. With his other hand Thomas drew his head to his chest. He grumbled in protest but allowed it. 

"Now," Thomas said as he could feel the rumbles in his chest. He could feel every fiber of Thomas vibrating and moving. He reveled in this feeling; it'd been so long since he felt that. Thomas continued, oblivious to his joy, "Why didn't you sleep Alexander?" 

He shook his head as he focused on the moment. His thoughts felt far away and distant when he had someone to talk to. He didn't want them to return as they often did when he fought. That was one reason their fights always went so far; he literally couldn't stop himself. He just wanted to listen to Thomas. Thomas however, unaware of his plight, was unsatisfied. 

"Alexander," Thomas began lowly, "if we want this, whatever we have between us, to even begin to work like you said you wanted to. So, I will ask one last time; why didn't you sleep?" 

He turned his head from where he had been burying it against Thomas' chest catching his gaze. He muttered, "Don't wanna say." 

Thomas let out a breathless chuckle, "Alexander with all due respect, I do not care if you _want_ to or not. You _will_ tell me, sooner or later." 

He sighed and felt an argument coming on. Phrases swirled in his mind, constructing ways to rip Thomas apart. They come together haphazardly then are solidified and refined. He tried to stop them but they shout and beg for attention. He let out a whine and sought for something, anything, else to think. The only thing that seemed to hold some attention was telling Thomas what he wanted to hear. Not exactly high on the list of things he wanted to do but he supposed between wanting and having to do it he better do it. He licked his lips nervously. 

"I couldn't sleep, because....." He trailed off for a second and thought how best to explain it. 

Thomas shifted below him and said, "You know, being unable to sleep versus pulling an all nighter for one of your bills or speeches is a huge difference." 

He nodded, "I stopped staying up all night for work a year ago. Found out it's a bit more productive to get sleep, if I can. That brings me back to last night. Let me get this all out, okay?" A nod, "Well sometimes my thoughts get really fast, I can barely keep up with them. It's like standing in the hurricane all over again but my thoughts are the wind and rain, unstoppable and devastating. I literally have no control over them but they make me say and do stupid things. Whenever we argue I use these, swirling thoughts, to fight easier. But the problem is sometimes they don't slow down. I'm normally able to slow them somewhat for a time but eventually they pick back up in pace and ferocity. It's like having people shout at you constantly and nothing helps quiet them down. I've tried everything. Most of my friends have tried to help but nothing really works for more than a minute or two. So, yesterday my thoughts got like this and I managed to work with it 'til work ended. Then, when I got home I just kept working. I haven't really been able to stop until now. I know I'm a freak though so it doesn't bother me." 

He'd avoided Thomas' gaze the whole time he spoke but he felt it nonetheless. A hand comfortingly rubbed his shoulder as he spoke. When he spoke he had started out quiet and calm but soon he was tripping over his own words in his hurry to get them out. He was left breathless and he still had more words to say, he always would. He sighed though, knowing his piece was said. Thomas shifted beneath his cheek, seemingly in thought. 

When Thomas spoke it was softly, "Alexander, would you mind turning so I can look you in the eyes?" 

He shook his head and nuzzled into Thomas' chest. He was so tired he didn't really care what he was doing; he hadn't slept all week. He didn't particularly _want_ to see _anyone's_ face after he told them that. He had faced down so many people after telling them this and it was always the same, pity. He hated how everyone pitied him. He didn't need _pity_. He never had wanted it or need it. Pity was something he reviled with all his heart. If someone pitied him he would immediately go off on them. Pity was useless and it undermined his need for a legacy, He didn't want to be _pitied;_ he wanted to be remembered. 

A hand grasped his chin gently and turned his head slowly, so as not to completely force him, so he was facing Thomas. He kept his gaze on Thomas' jaw and cheek though, still unwilling to look Thomas' in the eyes. The hand gently tilted his head until he was forced to look Thomas in the eyes. He full on gasped aloud when he did meet them. He'd never really taken the opportunity to study Thomas. He'd known the man was handsome but his _eyes_. He could've swooned right there. They were a deep brown and he swore they held the stars in them. They were, for one of the first times, open and concerned _about him_. His heart seemed to try and both simultaneously stop and beat faster. Butterflies came full force in his stomach. He blinked and shoved those feelings away. He would deal with those later (or never, preferably never). 

Thomas kept his gaze evenly and spoke, "Would talking all these ideas out or just ranting to someone help?" 

He considered that option. He hadn't thought of that yet and, honestly, it seemed like a good idea. No one had really suggested that after the one time he spent six hours ranting about the color of the drapes. That was why normally when he talked he just kept talking, had to get all the ideas out.  He hummed in thought. He knew if he accepted Thomas would probably go straight back to hating him considering how scattered his thoughts were, not to mention how rude they could be.  

He bit his lip and worried it some. He opened his mouth but frowned and closed it. What _could_ he say? If he said yes he was guaranteed a way that _might_ help but Thomas would most likely end up hating him again. If he said no he was guaranteed to suffer more sleepless night and Thomas would be disappointed in him (he didn't know this for sure but that's what his gut said and it wasn't too often his gut was _completely_ wrong). His eyes met Thomas' and they studied each other. He weighed his options in his mind, cocking his head in thought. 

At length, he said,  "I believe it _might_ be beneficial. I am, unsure, as to how beneficial it might be if it is beneficial. Why did you propose this?" 

Thomas casually said, "Well I suppose you could rant to me." 

He turned and slid Thomas' arm off him. He shook his head and stood up, throwing his coffee away. He heard Thomas get up to follow him and he briskly walked (not running because last time he had done that Washington had been beyond pissed) to hi office. He went to close the door but was interrupted when a hand grabbed it, Thomas' hand. Thomas forced the door open and forced his way in before closing it behind him. He gave a huff of annoyance and began to pace in front of his desk. He wrung his hands before he roughly drug them through his hair. 

He didn’t _want_ to talk about his thoughts. It felt like talking about his feelings and Alexander Hamilton was not a feelings person. He felt his frown become almost etched in his face when Thomas sat on his tiny couch (it was more of a loveseat but he insisted it was a couch). Thomas perched on the edge of the cushion and watched him with wide, honest eyes. He _hated_ it. He wanted to tell Thomas all these terrible things but couldn't find it in himself to actually do or say anything about Thomas being there. So, he huffed and grumbled beneath his breath but, continued his fervent pacing. 

Thomas spoke up, "Penny for your thoughts?" 

He froze, half turning and leveled a glare at Thomas. He opened his mouth with some half formed response about having more expensive thoughts but clamped it shut. He let out a heated breath from behind a clenched jaw, it came out as more of a hiss, before he resumed his pacing. Every movement was sharp and tense. 

Thomas sat back and crossed his legs, looking disinterestedly at him. His skin itched and crawled with irritation. Thomas remained calm and looked quite frankly, bored, as he picked up his phone and began to do some work from there. He could feel his body begin to shake as his thoughts began their onslaught once again. This time he didn't have work to calm him down or work through them; he was much too angry to get anything productive done by now. He bit his tongue as his mind supplied him with at least a dozen different insults aimed at Thomas but, he honestly didn't want to hurt Thomas so he swallowed them down. His anger hung like lead in his stomach. He stopped his pacing, facing Thomas. He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. 

"You know," he said, "I never thought we would ever be in this situation with you." 

Thomas raised an eyebrow over his phone and commented, "Oh really? Would you mind elaborating?" 

So he did. He talked and rambled and ranted to Thomas for hours. As he continued to pace he expressed his opinions on just about anything Thomas proposed. He explained his views and his views on the opposing side until he was hoarse. He finally opened the water from earlier in the day and drank the whole thing before realizing how hungry he was. He ate his whole sandwich before he turned to see Thomas smirking. He was vaguely reminded of the cat who got the canary. 

"Yes?" He prompted. 

Thomas shook his head in amusement, "It's not important but, how are you feeling? I'm assuming better." 

He nodded and gave a breathless chuckle, "Yeah, much better. Thanks for letting me talk things out with you. I'll be sure not to bother you from here on out though." 

Thomas frowned and replied, "Actually I was going to extend an invitation for you to come in my office and rant or talk whenever you feel like, or would you prefer I came to your office?" 

He worried his lip again, "If you're sure about that. I mean I wouldn't want to impose or anything. After all we might be friends, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure you'd get annoyed at me while I talked." 

Thomas held up a hand to silence him and he quieted. "Well," Thomas said, "To be honest I have this talent that I'm pretty sure you are unaware of. I heard maybe, being generous, ten percent of what you said. I can ignore you but I know how to prompt you in to talking so you could probably admit to some steamy love affair in front of me and I would have no clue that you actually told me. So you can rant to me and if you want me to pay attention I can but for the most part it goes in one ear and out the other." 

He crossed his arms and considered that. He had honestly never thought about how well Thomas (then Jefferson) had been so able to ignore him some days. Yes, that lined up.  

He smiled, "I guess then you could come to my office. Just, I feel kind of guilty about taking you away from your work." 

Thomas nodded and got up, stretching, "If you need me again just text me, you should have my number. Until then I'm heading back to my office." 

He nodded and courteously showed him out before slumping against the door when he closed it. By _God_  he hadn't talked that long in months and it had taken a lot out of him. He scrubbed his hands down his face before he slumped into his chair and began work again. His thoughts were clearer and let him get more work done than would have previously been possible. As he worked he reflected on how good it had been to let loose on someone, even if they hadn't been listening. 

The next day he took Thomas up on his offer. He spent three hours ranting about how terrible John Adams was, with some additional comments from Thomas. They were both working while he did this, Thomas on his couch and he at his desk. When they ended up sharing stupid jokes with one another about puns he decided that this arrangement couldn't be too bad. He also thought that sometimes he might decide to go to Thomas' office, after all his couch couldn't be _that_  comfortable.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.) Thomas was devastatingly handsome.**  

On some level he had always been aware of the attractiveness of just about all his fellow employees (except Johns Adams, _fuck_ John Adams, the ugly son of a bitch). It was two months into their friendship when he was officially faced with how handsome Thomas was. It was the beginning of July so naturally they were all forced to the Independence Day ball. They were forced because otherwise no one would go. He often complained about these events and was able to get out of most of them. The ones he did attend he had fun drinking people under the table and reaping the benefits. While, yes, blackmail _was_ frowned upon (and slightly illegal) he had some amazing blackmail on many senators and congressmen (and women). He hated getting dressed up for such events as the suits and ties or bowties often left him feeling hot and choked. 

That all being said he was often complimented when he dressed up. His friends often joked that if he put a fraction of the effort he put into his appearance for such events on a regular day he would have to fight off his admirers daily. He would always laugh at them when they said this. He swore his aesthetic at work was half dead with frazzled hair. He could admit that he did clean up quite well. His goatee would be neatly trimmed and his once frazzled hair would be pulled into a sleek, beautiful bun. His crumpled shirts and pants would be exchanged with tailored suits in varying shades of green and light blue (or black but he hated black) that showed of his physique quite well. The part not even he understood how it happened was his bags would seemingly disappear for the duration of the event, it confused everyone. He _wished_ he had the ability to control when his bags under his eyes would leave him but something about getting drunk always made him forget the pursuit later. 

As his taxi pulled up to the event he let out a long suffering sigh, the paparazzi were at the doors. They weren't inside though he noted with some glee. He didn't have to completely force the grin on his face as he stepped out of the taxi in his baby blue suit. He gave a few smiles and waves before walking into the party. He was let in with a small wave from the security head and he was faced with hundreds of beautiful people. Men and women and all in between those boundaries and outside them were dressed in their finest or close to their finest as they sat at tables and danced and ate. He took a deep breath and headed to a corner of the room where his friends normally hung around when they held parties of this scale. As he walked he observed all the people dressed in their best do what politicians did best, argue politely. 

He ended up in the corner alone, but saw his friends mingling among the crowd. He leaned against the wall and commenced people watching. He took a flute of champagne from someone and sipped it as he watched a rather hilarious looking (and sounding, not that he eavesdropped) conversation between two democratic-republicans. He was distracted from that when he felt someone stand exceedingly close to him. He started and turned to find Thomas there, also with a glass of champagne. He took a sip of his drink before pointing out the couple silently. They both turned to watch the conversation play out. The girl of the two ended up pouring her wine over her companions head. He chuckled and properly turned to Thomas. 

He felt his breath and his heart stutter. While normally yes, Thomas did wear flashy shirts and that godforsaken magenta jacket he normally didn't wear suits. So seeing him "properly" for the first time in a suit (without his hate blinding him) was quite the shock. He hadn't styled his hair but he didn't need to with the way it naturally fell like a halo around his head. His suit was a deep royal purple and showed off everything attractive about Thomas' body, which was quite a bit if he did say so himself. His body while not overly built was perfect in his opinion. He could almost imagine the abs and pecks beneath the suspiciously tight dress shirt and, he was staring wasn't he? He looked up to meet Thomas' gaze and found the man meeting it evenly. He felt heat rush to his cheeks but he responded to the look with a deadpan stare. They both snorted and turned back to the party.  

"So," he started, "Want to hang out with me in the corner until it's socially acceptable to leave?" 

Thomas smiled over the edge of his glass, "God yes. The less people I have to deal with tonight the better." 

He smiled and pointed at George and his wife, Martha, "Ten bucks says the next person that interrupts their dances gets destroyed by Martha." 

Thomas cracked a devil may care grin and countered, "I will take that bet. Besides if that doesn't happen it will be George goin' off and that is _always_ fun." 

He laughed and nodded. His laughter died off as he saw someone approach the couple. He nudged Thomas with his elbow and gestured to the poor man who had just tapped George on the shoulder. They both turned their rapt attention to the scene before them. The man who interrupted them seemed to be stuttering out a reply to something. Both George and Martha looked irate but before the man could get out another word Martha snapped. He guffawed at the sight of little Martha Washington who barely stood five feet verbally slamming a man who stood near her husband's height of six foot something. He heard Thomas laugh with him and their laughter only increased at the sight of Martha actually pushing the man away. He felt Thomas lean on him and he reciprocated the action as they watched Martha turn and give a dressing down to her husband. 

They hurriedly turned their laughs to coughs when Martha turned to look at them. She raised her eyebrow and he hid his face behind his hand as he continued to laugh. Thomas had turned away from her and towards him like he was speaking but his shaking shoulders gave him away. When she looked away he calmed down and beamed at Thomas. 

"I believe you owe me ten bucks," he cockily said. 

Thomas huffed and grumbled before fishing a ten out of wallet and handing it over. He took a drink of his champagne and smiled, taking the money. He put it in his pocket and nodded in thanks. He watched the crowd and frowned at how large it had become; that couldn't be good for Thomas. Thomas seemed to realize the size of the crowd too and finished his drink before grabbing another one. They stood there, in comfortable silence, and merely watched the crowd and the people who were a part of it. Eventually some of his friends joined them. 

He chatted with them but noticed that Thomas would drift away from them while they chatted. He would then pull Thomas, sometimes rather forcefully, into the conversation. If his friends were surprised by this they didn't comment. (They didn't have any reason to be surprised though, after all he had been talking more amicably than they had in years. Just the other day they had both been caught eating ice cream together in a small café during their lunch break.) Thomas looked tense and tight the first few times but eventually he resigns himself to being drug into conversations. After the first few conversations he actually stood next to him and chatted with his friends. 

They were interrupted when the time for speeches was announced. Reluctantly they both made their way to the stage placed in the ballroom. George made his speech first, not one of his personal best speeches but it was good, and it was short and sweet. Next was Thomas and it was another short but meaningful speech. Then Burr and Madison went; he didn't bother paying attention to them. Suddenly it was his turn. He walked up to the microphone and he could remember all the words of his speech; they sat like lead on his tongue. Yet he stopped where he was and met his former fiancée's eyes, his Eliza, well she wasn't _his_ anymore. He was suddenly faced with every single time someone had told him he had talked too long. Everyone had done it before, it wasn't a new development. For once he took their advice, he ran through his speech fast, faster than should have been possible, and made it shorter. When he finally spoke it was quietly but with determination, "Ladies and gentleman, sorry for the quick pause I was just changing a word or two." He continued in the same volume but his speech was shorter than all his previous ones. With a smile towards the audience to finish it he walked over on legs that felt like jelly to sit next to Thomas. 

He grabbed Thomas' hand and le tout a shuddering breath, "Holy shit I'm pretty sure everyone is dead because my speech was so short." 

Thomas was looking at him in disbelief but nodded, "I didn't even know you could make short speeches." 

He took another glass of champagne and downed it in one go before saying, "Yes well, everyone always complains about me talking too much so I thought I ought to be polite for once and take the advice given." 

"Alexander you know some part of us is joking when we say that, right?" 

He shook his head, "I'm pretty sure when your ex spends twenty minutes berating you about it and your friends constantly say you talk too much and your former enemy, now friend, always used to say that the best thing you could do would be to shut up." 

Thomas flinched but said, "You are just a tad too drunk to be having this conversation with me-" 

He interrupted, "I'm barely buzzed, but continue." 

Thomas leveled a small glare at the interruption, "Anyways, I used to say it because when you talk you become very passionate and then there is no stopping you. Sometimes though we all need to borrow from Burr and his whole 'Talk less, smile more' motto. I personally don't borrow from it often because I often fight my anxiety to get the words out, regardless of the speech. But sometimes we all need to slow down and stop talking. Smelling the roses is good for us all." 

He nodded, that made sense. He cast back his thoughts to times when everyone had given long speeches some on par with his own. He wondered what the connection between long speeches and the topics they had been talking about had in common. Probably something important to them, he reasoned. He shook it off in favor of watching everyone else join them at the table. He dropped Thomas' hand. As they were all served, and ate he kept mostly silent. The only person who seemed to notice his quiet was Thomas. Thomas didn't say anything and let him stew in his silence. He consumed more alcohol, this event was way too much. 

Eventually the drinks had settled in his veins like a warm blanket. He knew he was drunk but he didn't care. His words slurred and stumbled together and he often trailed off mid-thought. He found it easier to smile and deal with everyone. God, why hadn't he done this sooner? 

Suddenly he was colder, not cold because it _was_ summer in Washington D.C. but colder. He could feel someone leading him along. His brain supplied that someone had volunteered to take him home after he insulted a diplomat. Mentally he shrugged, too many diplomats were easily insulted. He stumbled over his feet and half fell only being caught by the person who was now grumbling under their breath. He turned towards them and beamed when he saw it was Thomas. A laugh bubbled up and out of him. 

Thomas sighed, "I swear to _God_ Alexander could you be any more useless?" 

He pouted and mumbled, "Party pooper. Not _all_ of us like being sober." 

A hand straightened him up so it could better hold him while he walked. He leaned into Thomas' body and hummed a tuneless song as they continued. He was focusing on walking forward when a rock caught his foot. He fell and grabbed Thomas by his shirt, dragging him down on top of him. They both groaned in pain. He weakly pushed Thomas off.  Thomas rolled off him and forced himself into a sitting position. He merely lay, face down in the stinging gravel of the driveway. (On a side note why was it a driveway if you parked in it and a parkway if you drove in it? Meh, he'd discuss that later when he was sober enough to contemplate it.) Eventually the stinging of his palms reached him and he quickly sat up, legs spread and looked down at his hands with a frown. 

"Alexander what the hell was that for?" Thomas demanded. 

"Fuck you it wasn't like I meant to trip you bean pole fuck," he said. 

Thomas sighed and stood up, dragging him upright too. 

"Ow, ow, ow! Watch it! I hurt myself when I fell, you pompous asshole," he complained. 

Thomas looked down at him, "Alexander do you even know what pompous means right now?" 

"It means- It means- fuck you Thomas," he halfheartedly snarled. 

Thomas laughed carefreely but drew him close as they finally got to his car. Thomas opened the door and sat him down on the seat, with his legs on the outside. 

"If you can sit there I can deal with your injuries in whatever light there is plus my flashlight," Thomas grumbled. 

He sighed for dramatic effect (he'd be damned before he did any of the mushy stuff without _some_ form of complaint) but, he remained as still as he could while his wounds were tended to. When they started driving his mouth moved before his brain caught up. 

"Did you know that you're like really, really hot?" He asked. 

Thomas stiffened in his peripheral. 

"I mean, like, your hair looks so pretty and soft. It just, floofs out. I'm jealous of it. Then there's your _eyes._  You make me blush like a little schoolgirl with those suckers. I mean they're so big and wide sometimes but then they're so fiery and passionate. Don't even get me started on the color. I mean, I just like your eyes so much. You know, I'm willing to bet that you're built as shit underneath all those pretty shirts. You're probably some sort of new Adonis, wouldn't surprise me," he rambled. 

Thomas remained tense before letting out a breathless laugh. As they continued to drive he kept glancing over at him, seemingly confused at the silence. 

He rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window as he stopped speaking. He had no idea why he had said any of that. Sure, he had _thought_  most of that while sober but he had never even contemplated saying it aloud. Oh well, it would have come out eventually knowing him. Maybe it was better this way because he could play it off as drunken ramblings. Yes, this as the best situation. Besides he was beyond drunk and probably wouldn't even remember tonight. He had low hopes for tonight and given by the way Thomas wouldn't even _look_  at him (though it was from a blush, not that he knew that) his hopes were pushed even lower. 

When they got to Thomas' house he was quickly corralled into the guest bedroom. He whined pitifully as he was pushed to the bed. He grabbed at Thomas' shirt and pulled it towards him.  

"Alexander let go of my shirt," Thomas commanded. 

He shook his head, "No. Stay." 

Thomas' hands curled around his and fought to get him to release it. His other hand weakly fought against it but his first hand remained tightly clenched in the shirt. After a minute or so of this Thomas sighed and relented. 

"Alright, fine. I'll stay but only because you are drunk and I have a feeling you might cry if I leave you," Thomas said. 

He smiled and pulled an unwilling Thomas in bed next to him. Thomas sighed and while laying down took his shirt, vest, and jacket off. He did the same and they both took their belts off but stopped there. He looked over at Thomas and nearly sputtered. He was right! Thomas was _built_. He was willing to bet he could bounce a goddamn quarter off those abs and it would slam back at him. The absolute definition of muscle that he was able to achieve and keep even though he wasn't in the most active of jobs was astonishing. He immediately wanted to worship that body because _who wouldn't want to?_  Seriously, he was blown away at how handsome Thomas was. Alas, he couldn't actually do anything because he _was_  drunk and he did recognize that. He lamented the fact that he might not remember this come morning but, that was he curse of the drink. 

The bed wasn't too large so they couldn't exactly avoid one another. Eventually he turned to his side, and away from Thomas, to fall asleep. Thomas from the sound (what he did hear) did the same. As he fell asleep he knew that he would regret acting upon anything his crush had made him do in the morning.


End file.
